I'll Be Watching You
by jojospn
Summary: John's latest set of coordinate send the boys to Miramichi, New Brunswick, where a local hiking ground is haunted by a headless hun. But the boys soon learn that their latest salt and burn may prove to be more dangerous then they, or John, expected. Set in early to mid season 1, spoilers for those who haven't finished this season yet.
1. Chapter 1

Epilogue

The night air was quiet, and deathly still. Not a sound could be heard save the low gurgling of a nearby brook and the heavy foots of the two hikers as they trekked along the narrow forest paths. The beam of their flashlight cut through the darkness like a knife, casting an eerie glow along the bush. An owl hooted in the distance, and one of the hikers inadvertently shuddered.

"I think this has to be the stupidest idea you've ever had, Mike," the hiker tagging behind grumbled, adjusting her pack higher on her shoulder.

"What, scared the Headless Nun's gonna grab you?" Mike teased his sister. The girl rolled her eyes. "No, but we saw this place in the daylight. Some of these paths are fucking dangerous. It's practically suicide to hike at night." As if on cue, the girl tripped on a rock and nearly fell on Mike. "Shit, Lauren, be careful! You almost knocked me flat on my ass! You try finding your way out of here without me to guide you out."

"I think I can figure it out, thanks."

Mike grinned slyly. "Whatever, sis."

Lauren groaned. Sometimes her older brother was really a pain in the ass. A lover of ghost stories and all other things supernatural, Mike would drive her nuts with the latest shit he'd seen on _Ghost Hunters_ or even that stupid knock off, what was it called? _Ghostfacers _or something like that. Total bull, she thought, but Mike was all into that stuff, and of course, wanted to drag little sister along. Hence this latest trip to French Fort Cove, a hiking ground in Miramichi, New Brunswick, which was supposed to be haunted by some headless nun or whatever. To be honest, Lauren didn't really mind, at least, not that much. She enjoyed Mike's crazy idea to drive to the most haunted places in New Brunswick; it was a nice road trip, the province was beautiful in October, and besides, as annoying as Mike was, he was still her big brother and she enjoyed spending quality time with him.

The two continued on in silence, until Mike stopped short, causing Lauren to almost bump into him again.

"Shh, did you hear that?" Mike asked in a whisper.

"What? I heard nothing."

"Listen carefully."

Lauren obliged, and sure enough, she did hear an eerie sound coming from ahead, just to her right. It came from what she remembered was a little bridge which connected one half of the park to the other, sprawling across a portion of the Miramichi River. She shuddered despite her skepticism. Surely it wasn't the Headless Nun….was it?

Mike clearly thought that the noise was, and his voice rose a little in excitement. "Come on, Lauren, let's check it out!"

Reluctantly, Lauren followed her brother to a little hamlet near the bridge. They stopped, listened. Not a sound, not even the rustling of the wind dancing among the autumn leaves. Mike guided the beam of his flashlight across the bridge and along the water's edge. Nothing.

"Well, guess there's nothing here. We should probably go." Lauren was surprising herself with just how frightened she really was. Maybe she believed in ghost stories after all. But Mike was not about to leave that easily. "You stay if you want," he whispered. "But I'm checking it out."

"Michael, don't!"

But Mike wasn't about to listen to his sister anytime soon. Without hesitation, he crossed the bridge, his heart pounding in anticipation. Lauren watched as her brother made his way across, trying to ease the feeling of dread that was settling in the pit of her stomach. _Stop being ridiculous, Lauren. Nothing is going to happen. Mike is gonna cross that bridge, and come back realizing all disappointed because he didn't s-…_

Lauren's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden scream from ahead. "Mike!" She saw the flashlight drop from her brother's hand and roll off the bridge and into dark abyss below. Heart pounding, she ran across the bridge, following the blood - _omigod is that really blood!? – _trail along the warped wood. She dreaded what she would find when she crossed that bridge. No doubt her brother's mauled body or something equally gruesome. She stumbled her way through the darkness and almost tripped again – this time on her brother's headless body.

The stillness was broken by a young woman's ear piercing shriek.

**Hey guys, this is my first full length fic. I'm hoping to put as many chapters up as I can, but as I'm a student, and about to start my internship in January, I may not have as much time as I'd like to write. In case you guys didn't catch on, I'm a New Brunswick girl. Kinda tired of watching Sam and Dean check out all these haunted places and avoiding Canada completely, especially the Maritimes!**

**Just to let you know about the lore, there really is a ghost story about a headless nun in French Fort Cove, in Miramichi. I haven't heard that she is a violent spirit or not, just added that point on my own for the sake of the story. Will go on a bit more on the lore when our lovely Sammy does his research **** Anyway please feel free to review, so long as we're all nice and mature about it! Have a good night all!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Dean Winchester kicked off his boots and collapsed on the bed of the sketchy motel room with a sigh of pleasure. It had been another successful hunt in California, in which the boys had tackled their first shapeshifter. The job had been a tad dicey; the shifter had actually stolen Dean's body, gone on a killing spree, and left him accused of murder. But, hell, all in a day's work, right? Besides, the thing was ganked, that was the main thing. Dean sighed and twisted the top of his beer, tossing the cap carelessly at the garbage can and missing by a mile. Shrugging to himself, he took a swig of the brew and leaned back on the bed, a smile of pleasure on his face.

"Hey Sammy, lookin' for a case already? We just got off one, take a break, find a chick and bang her, or something."

Dean's younger brother Sam rolled his eyes and continued to type furiously at his laptop. Dean sighed. Sometimes Sam was too much of a keener. Sure, the two were kick ass hunters, but sometimes it did them some good to take a little break.

"Can't Dean, gotta check out a new case in Miramichi."

"Mirimima-what?"

"Miramichi. It's in New Brunswick."

"As in _Canada_, New Brunswick? Dude, we're still in California! Why the fuck would we go all the way to freakin' Canada on a case? Seems kinda out of the way, don't you think?"

Sam pulled out his cell phone and tossed it on the bed where Dean was now sitting up, staring incredulously at his brother. "Because Dad sent us the coordinates, that's why." He went back to his laptop, obviously researching the latest job that their father was providing them.

John Winchester had been missing for several months now. Sam, a former pre-law student at Stanford, had actually been drug back into the hunting game by Dean a few months back, in hopes of finding their estranged father. It turned out that the elder Winchester did not want to be found, and was cleverly distracting his boys by sending them coordinates to possible cases via cell phone. Dean was generally the one to be gung ho to follow their father's little game. As a boy, he had always been taught to follow his father's orders, regardless as to whether he found them to be right or bat shit insane. Sam, on the other hand, tended to stand up against dear old dad, and was far from thrilled with the idea of John's wild goose chase across North America. So why was Sam suddenly eager to actually follow them?

As if reading his brother's mind, Sam turned to face his brother. "I know, I'm not usually that eager to go on one of Dad's treasure hunts, or whatever. And I really would rather try to track him down and actually find him. But for some reason this one's sort of getting to me. Don't know why."

"Seriously man, you are all levels of weird."

Sam ignored his brother's smart ass reply. "Besides, we've never been to Canada before. New Brunswick's supposed to be really nice this time of year too, great scenery."

"Sure, whatever Martha Stewart."

Sam arched his eyebrows in a _god I can't believe he is my brother_ fashion and went back to his work. "So let's see what's happening in Miramichi that's attracting Dad's attention." He typed into a search engine and in a few minutes a web page for the local newspaper popped onto the screen. "Says here that a local hiker was found dead in French Fort Cove, it's this hiking hot spot up there, quite a tourist attraction. Guy's been decapitated, but no sign of struggle or footprints. No sign that anyone's been anywhere near the body. They interviewed the guy's sister, she swears she heard something in the woods. Claimed no one was actually there, since they were hiking at night and apparently that's a huge no-no."

"Okay, so the guy's killed, has no head, kinda horrible but nothing really supernatural about it." Dean finished his beer and leaned back on the bed, closing his emerald green eyes. It would be nice to just sit back and relax rather than worry about a case. The most he felt like doing was heading to the nearest fast food joint and pick up something to eat. A juicy cheeseburger and some fries would do the trick. Shit, why hadn't he stopped and picked something up before finding the motel?

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by Sam, who was still typing like mad at the keyboard. "Says here that Michael Cormier was the third one to be killed in that same MO in the past three months. All found without a head, all near the same spot in the park."

This tidbit peaked Dean's interest. "Go on. Obviously must be something if Dad sent us the tip."

"Give me a minute, jeez."

"Touchy, touchy."

Sam ignored his brother and went back to his work. In about ten minutes he found what he was looking for. "Bingo. Says here that French Fort Cove is one of the most haunted places in New Brunswick. Fuck, according to locals, the whole freaking town is like a calling card for the paranormal. Says here that in the mid 18th century there was this huge blow out between the Brits and these French people known as the Acadiens. Anwyays, there was a fort built where the park is now, and the Acadians were sent there to fend off the British, try to defend their territory."

"Surprise there, huh?"

"Let me finish," Sam interrupted and Dean smirked. He loved Sam dearly, would do anything for him, but sometimes it was too damned easy to pull his chain. He grinned wickedly as his brother continued with the history lesson. "Anyway, it's no surprise that there were a lot of casualties, illness, depression, and what have you, and so this nun named Sister Marie was sent from France to try to help 'em out, comfort them, all that. She set up this trust fund for the people to help them out."

"The plot thickens."

"So, a bunch of thugs find out about Sister Marie's stash and want to get their hands on it, so they track her down and try to bully her into giving it to them. She doesn't cave, says that the money is buried somewhere on the property but, naturally, refuses to say where. The gang gets pissed, beats her up, and, get this, decapitates her. Her body's shipped to France, but legend has it that her spirit hangs around the place."

"Wait, you said her body's in France? Great. Fuckin'-A." Dean rubbed his forehead gingerly, suddenly feeling the beginning of a headache. "So the spirit's latched on to something. Figures, it seemed that it was way too easy for us to ID our baddie."

Sam sighed as he closed his laptop and pushed it aside. Suddenly he seemed really tired, and hungry. Maybe they should have waited till morning to tackle this one. After all, it had been a long day. Even the greasy take out Dean loved seemed appealing at the moment. "Nothing is ever easy for us, Dean."

It was true. Very little, if anything, could have been considered smooth sailing for the Winchester boys. From the moment their mother died in that fire when Sam was six months old, the brothers and their father had lived the lives of the hunter: tracking down and killing the things that go bump in the night, the things of nightmares; which many would scoff at the idea that they existed. The childhood of being hunters' kids is far from easy, a lesson which Sam and Dean learned all too well as their father tracked down who (_what_) had killed their mom, leaving them to basically fend for themselves. Hell, Sam's father had practically been Dean himself. It was _Dean_ who taught him how to tie his shoelaces, to read and write even ride a bike. It was Dean who taught him practically everything he knew in life.

"Sam?" Dean's voice interrupted his younger brother's little divergence into self-pity. He turned his frame over to his brother, brown mop of hair hanging in his eyes.

"First, you seriously need to get a haircut. And second, don't know about you Sammy, but I'm starving." Dean got off his bed and reached once more for his boots. "Anything you feelin' hungry for?"

"One, it's Sam. And two, yeah, whatever you want's fine by me." Though he tried to hide it, Dean saw Sam smile a little at the mention of his so called dreaded nickname. What was he kidding, he secretly loved being called Sammy and Dean knew it. What were big brothers for? Moments later the engine of Dean's '67 Impala gunned and the brothers drove off into the night.

**Hi guys, I know this chapter is kinda uneventful. The purpose was to introduce the baddy, which is, again, based on a real ghost story in Miramichi. Plus, it's fun to write dialogue between the bros. Hoping to make them as on character as possible. Feel free to review, and don't worry about being constructive if you think of any. Just please be nice! And yes, I remembered last night that I called my prologue an epilogue, lol gonna edit that now **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

John hit send on his cell phone and stuffed the device in his jacket pocket. For what seemed like the millionth time since that night, he almost considered dialling Dean's number. It would be so good to actually hear his voice, or Sam's, to know that his boys were alright on their own. But to contact them would be dangerous. He was now almost 100% sure that Yellow Eyes was the one behind Mary's death, and to reunite with his sons would be putting all their asses on the line. Especially Sammy; for John had a hunch, a secret about his youngest that could prove to be devastating. What plans the demon had for the boy, he wasn't quite sure, but he knew something big was going on, and that it involved his second born.

John sighed and pulled out a worn photograph from his wallet. The familiar one, a family photo with John smiling, Mary beside him with her arms around him, also flashing that lovely smile of hers. God, she was so beautiful, her hair like spun gold, blue-green eyes filled with love and a hint of mischief as she posed for the camera. Kneeling below the happy parents were little Dean, no more than four, carefully holding baby Sammy in his arms. Dean grinned from ear to ear, like a Cheshire cat; Sam looked like he was asleep, oblivious to the photo op. John felt tears well in his eyes and he quickly returned the photograph to its place, lest his tears damage the print. Quickly he wiped them away with the back of his fist and swallowed the lump in his throat. There was no time for crying at the moment. He was closing in on Yellow Eyes, he was sure of it, and to wallow in self-pity was not the way to take him down. Swallowing the last of his whiskey, John pulled out some documents and ruffled through them, hoping to find something, anything, about his wife`s killer.

He had work to do.

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The reflection in the bowl of blood faded, the image of John Winchester fading like a lost radio signal. A pair of pale gold eyes looked up from the make shift mirror, a vindictive smile creeping along pursed lips. So Johnny had sent some sort of message to his boys. Typical, wanting to avoid contact with his precious sons, thinking it would throw him, Azaezel, off track. The demon laughed, a dark, evil sound from beneath his throat. Only a fool would think that anyone could evade him, to stay off the radar for long. Besides, there were other demons roaming the planet. Was John Winchester really naïve to the point where he had forgotten that little detail? He, supposedly one of the best hunters out there. That is, the best until something happened to one of his sons. They were all the same, those Winchesters. Something goes wrong to one, and the others lose their guard completely, leaving them vulnerable to attack. They were each other`s Achilles heel, a fact which Azaezel was banking on in order for his plan to work. The only hard part would be getting to one of them in the first place. It would be like setting up a line of dominoes; set them wrong and only a few tumble, but set them right, and everything falls beautifully into place.

The demon smiled, a horrid, devilish grin which could easily be mistaken for a grimace. His plan was in motion, the dominoes set. Soon the Winchesters would be taken care of, and Sammy would be his, ready to be the good little soldier he was meant to be. All he needed now was time, and a little patience.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

``God, I hate border crossings.``

Dean groaned as he nosed the Impala away from the customs booth and across the border, into Canada. Keeping his eyes glued to the road, he tossed his carefully forged passport onto Sam`s lap, hinting that his brother store it in the glove compartment or wherever. It didn`t matter how well made the phony documents were, crossing borders tended to make him nervous. _Maybe that`s why I`m never gung ho to find jobs in other countries, Sam,_ he mentally addressed his brother`s query from the night before.

``Yeah, I`m not too fond of them either,`` Sam replied, the car`s glove compartment snapping shut as he stuffed the passports away for later use. He closed his eyes, looking back at the border guard who had spent seemingly longer than usual checking out his passport. Maybe it was just the paranoia, but had he hesitated a moment before finally handing the documents back? Shuddering at the thought, Sam dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the brand new road map he had purchased at the duty free shop on the US side. According to the map, their destination was in the north eastern part of the province. A good five or six hour drive, depending on how far Dean was willing to push the Impala.

"Gonna be a while before we get there. Wanna stop and grab a bite to eat?" At the mention of food Dean's eyes lit up and he flashed one of his trademark goofy smiles. "What, me turn down a cheeseburger? Fuck yeah, I want something to eat! Can gas up my baby while we're at it. Oh, and maybe a nice piece of apple pie." He paused a moment, sighing in contentment. "Love me some pie."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously, I don't know what you love more, that car or pie."

Dean laughed as he pulled into an exit ramp. A few minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a small, local diner and eased into a space. The waitress who took their order was kind of cute, with reddish blonde curls, hazel eyes hidden by a stylish pair of glasses, and a friendly smile. "What can I get you boys?"

Sam ordered a large spinach salad and a glass of water, while Dean opted for the trademark cheeseburger and fries, the works, and cola. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Dean relishing every bite and Sam slowly working away at his salad. Suddenly he let the fork fall onto his plate, the sound of cutlery on the bowl making what seemed like a deafening sound. Immediately Dean's big brother radar kicked in.

"Sam?"

Sam said nothing, eyes closed, wincing as if in pain. Dean eyed in suspiciously; he knew full well that his brother wasn't fine, just as he knew that if he pressed further on the subject, he would likely get another helping of his "I'm ok" bullshit. Still, he couldn't resist trying to pry a little into Sam's brain. After all, he was an older brother, and it was his job to look out for him. That's what John had told him all those years ago, and it was a task that he intended to keep, as long as he was breathing. Still, Dean was not surprised to get the grunted "I'm fine" from his brother.

"Really? 'Cause you sure as hell don't look fine to me."

Sam finally opened his eyes and looked at his brother. Could he really admit to him that he had had one of his visions?

_It's night, a wooded area, no doubt the French Fort Cove where the supernatural deaths had taken place. Sam is alone, where the fuck Dean is, he has absolutely no clue. The woods are silent, not a breath of wind. Sam is calling for his brother, fearing for his safety, that maybe the headless bitch or whatever has gotten a hold of him. Suddenly a pair of menacing yellow eyes pierces through the darkness…_

"Sammy!" Dean's voice once again snaps Sam back to reality. He sees the concern on his brother's face, considers for a second time of sharing his freaky vision, and once again decides against it. Why worry him when it's probably nothing? Faking a smile, Sam once again tried to reassure his brother. "Really, it's nothing. Just a stress headache or something. It's gone already."

Dean looked at his brother quizzically, mentally called bullshit, and humoured his brother. "Okay man, it's just that you kind of freaked me out a bit there. Can't help it if I'm the over protective big brother, now can I?"

"No, Dean," Sam gave it with a sigh and picked up his fork, trying to finish his lunch. Suddenly he had no appetite. Across the table, Dean was going through the same thing. He looked down at his half eaten burger, picked it up as if to take a bite, and let it fall down with a plop on his ketchup soaked plate. The boys sat in silence until the sort of cute waitress dropped off their cheque and they left the diner feeling more uncomfortable than they had in a while. Sam was up to something, or had seen something, or whatever. Dean wasn't an idiot; he knew his brother had some psychic mumbo jumbo going on. It just bothered him that his own brother wasn't willing to try to lessen the load a bit. Sure, neither of the Winchesters were all that big on sharing and caring, a trait they had inherited from their father, but sometimes there were moments when divulging a bit of information could make or break a hunt; or even keep one of them from getting their asses kicked by whatever creature they were trying to gank. Dean slid into the driver's seat of the Impala and shoved a Metallica cassette into the tape deck. As the familiar riff of "Enter Sandman" filled the car, Dean turned to his brother and forced a grin. "Let's get this show on the road."

Sam returned the smile with his usual cocky grin. Dean had hopefully forgotten about the awkward moment in the diner. "Really, Dean? How many times can we listen to this same album? Can't you give James Hetfield a break already?"

This time Dean's grin was natural as he backed out of the space and guided the Impala back to the Trans-Canada highway. "You remember the rule about the driver, Sammy…."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

The knock on Lauren Cormier's door startled the young woman from her reverie. She had been thinking about Mike, looking back at their childhood as she ruffled through the pages of an old photo album. There was the one of the summer they'd spent at sleepaway camp, Laruen smiling and Mike acting like the typical hot shot he was by mugging for the camera, pretending to act gangster. Hell, he even had the sideways turned ball cap. He'd looked like a complete dumbass, but the two had never laughed so hard in a long time. Lauren had been sitting there, smiling sadly, when she'd heard the knock. With a little sigh, she sat the album beside her on the couch and got up to answer the door.

She was surprised to see two handsome men, dressed in suits and flashing badges. What, FBI in Canada? What the hell was _that _about?! Both men flashed charming smiles, the shorter one (the one with those dreamy green eyes and who would have made Lauren's heart flutter madly in other circumstances) looking slightly more relaxed than the taller one, who's mop of brown hair looked about as neat as it was possibly going to get considering.

"Agents Campbell and Kilmister, FBI," the shorter, cuter one began. "We're investigating the death of Michael Cormier. I'm assuming you're his sister?"

The girl nodded and both Sam and Dean silently thanked their lucky stars that the girl hadn't questioned what the FBI was doing investigating a case in New Brunswick, of all places. Next time Sam should probably research what the Canadian equivalent was.

"Come in," Lauren offered and escorted the two suit clad men into the bungalow she shared with her parents and younger sister. She gestured that the boys take a seat, and offered them something to drink. When the Winchesters accepted, she headed off into the kitchen and returned with two steaming cups of coffee. "Wasn't sure what you take in your coffee, got milk or cream in the fridge if you want it."

"Black's fine, thanks."

Lauren settled back onto her space on the couch, inadvertently brushing her hands against the warn fabric covering the photo album. Sam caught the subtle gesture and lowered his mug.

"First of all, we wanted to say how sorry we are for your loss. I can't imagine how horrible it must be to lose a sibling like that." With a subtle glance to his brother, who was gingerly blowing at the steaming liquid to cool it down before taking his first sip.

"Thanks." The answer was mechanical, and sounded well-rehearsed. Of course it had. No doubt the girl and her parents had heard those words more than they would have liked in the past few days. Lauren looked up and started to rise from the couch again. "My dad's out, but Mom's just outside in the garden if you want to talk to her."

"Actually, Miss Cormier, we wanted to talk to you," Dean admitted. "You were there when your brother…" He hesitated, trying to think of a gentler way of addressing such a sensitive issue. "You saw what happened that night didn't you?"

"I already told the RCMP about what happened, they thought I was crazy." Sam and Dean nodded in sympathy. Good thing they had checked out who the RCMP were. It would look more than a little unconvincing if the FBI had no clue who the local police were.

"It doesn't matter how crazy it may sound, Miss Cormier, you can tell us," Sam ventured kindly. "I know you already told the police but it's very important that we try to find out what happened to your brother." Sure enough, Sam's gentle smile and soothing voice helped Lauren slightly relax. She began to calm a little as she recalled for what seemed like the hundredth time the story of Mike's mysterious death.

"We went hiking up in French Fort Cove. Mike is a huge ghost story nut, watched all that stupid crap like _Ghostfacers." _(Sam and Dean struggled to suppress the grins at the thought of those two idiots and their stupid excuse of a hunting operation. Fortunately Lauren never noticed.) "He'd heard about the legends of Sister Marie, you know, the Headless Nun, and wanted to check it out for himself. I'm sure he secretly thought it was bullshit, fuck…oops, sorry, frig…. I always thought it was nothing but a stupid story to scare the local kids. But there is no way, I mean, NO WAY, that Mike was killed by anyone human. I looked all around the place, found absolutely no sign that anyone was around for miles. It was just me and him. Well, what was left of him….." Lauren broke down, crying softly into her hands as the Winchesters exchanged slightly awkward looks.

"Did you notice a sudden drop in temperature?" Dean asked her after her sobs had subdued. Lauren looked up at him with a confused and slightly angry expression on her face. Hot or not, this guy was weird to the point of being creepy. But when his seemingly nicer partner looked at her imploringly with what she could have sworn were puppy dog eyes, she answered the question. "It was cold out to begin with, after all, it is October, in case you forgot."

"Please, Lauren. This is important." The sasquatch with the puppy dog eyes had dropped the formalities. Jesus, it must be pretty important. Breathing in deeply, Lauren closed her eyes and tried to look back to that horrible night. "Come to think of it, it _did_ get super cold all of a sudden. Like, middle of January cold. And the air felt sort of dry, and staticy. You know, like if you've just had a small electrical shock. Never really though much of it to be honest."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Looked like the telltale signs of a ghostly visitor. As if on cue, both stood up, thanked the still confused young woman, and after offering their condolences for a second time, headed out the door to the waiting Impala. Lauren watched form her living room window as the short one climbed into the driver's seat and started the car. What were FBI agents doing driving a sweet ride like that? And again, what were they doing in the Mira-fucking-michi? With a sigh, she let the curtains fall back and went to pick up the barely touched mugs of coffee. So much for hospitality.

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Back at the motel, Sam and Dean reviewed the interview that had gone on a few hours earlier. It had basically confirmed that a possibly vengeful spirit was haunting the hiking trail, but they had pretty much figured that much on their own. In fact, they had pretty much succeeding in nothing but making the poor girl cry. Sam fired up his laptop, running his fingers through his tangled mess of hair as he waited for it to power up. On the bed beside him, Dean was looking at the piles of books and newspaper clippings they had "borrowed" from the local library on the way back from the Cormier place. The two worked in silence for a few minutes, until Dean broke the silence with a satisfied grunt.

"What, find something?"

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean teased, grinning one of his triumphant smiles. Sometimes it was nice to actually find something before geek boy did. He pulled out an old newspaper article from the turn of the century. "Says here that in 1902 two men were hunting in the French Fort area after dark. When they didn't come home after a week or so the families reported them missing. Surprise, surprise, the two are found looking as if they'd had the shit beaten out of them, and their heads missing. And get this, they were all missing something from their bodies, a crucifix."

Sam perked up at the last statement. "Wait, did Lauren Cormier mention anything about missing personal items?" Before his brother could answer, he began to type madly. After about fifteen minutes of research, he found what he was looking for.

"So I hacked into the RCMP case files…"

"Nice," Dean smiled in admiration. Sam gave him a nod of thanks, and focused once again on the information displayed on the screen.

"Anyway, it says here that the vic had nothing stolen from him, except for, take a guess."

"A crucifix?"

"Bingo." Sam leaned back and stretched. It didn't matter how many years he had slaved at a laptop, writing paper after paper, it still bothered him to be hunched at the screen for too long. "Could be a coincidence though, but I have a feeling that I know what object our ghost is attaching herself to." Dean nodded in agreement, and the two went back to work. Within the hour the boys had discovered five more cases, each with the same particular date – October 18th. There seemed to be a pattern going on.

"We need to find out the significance of that date," Sam mused, and began to surf the web again. "I'm thinking birthday, anniversary of her death, but those all seem too much like red herrings to me."

Suddenly, Sam felt another sharp pain in his head, this time enough to make him hiss in agony.

"Sammy?!" Dean tossed his pages aside and was at his brother's bedside in an instant. He could feel the sweat from his brother's pores as he struggled to control the slight convulsions running through his body. "Sam? SAMMY!"

_Sam again, alone and calling for someone. He can't make out who he's calling, or what for, but he has a hunch that he's trying to find Dean. Hiding in the bushes he clearly sees the faces of people of different races and nationalities, all with one decidedly inhuman characteristic in common – a pair of coal black eyes…_

Sam once again was snapped out of his trance by his brother, gently shaking him by the shoulders. "Sam? You okay?" When Sam didn't respond, Dean pushed forward, not about to just let it go this time. "You mind telling me what the fuck is going on?"

Sam hesitated, and actually considered keeping this latest vision a secret from his brother. But when Dean looked at him, concern in his green eye, the younger Winchester finally relented. "You sure you want to know?"

"Damn straight I want to know. I'm your brother."

This was it. No turning back. Swallowing his pride (and was that fear? Though why he should be afraid to share what was troubling him was beyond him), Sam told Dean about the visions, about him being alone, and that he was surrounded by demons, and something with these freaky yellow eyes. Dean listened, surprisingly calm. "Guess this might be more than a simple ghostly encounter after all." He got up, reached into his duffle bag, and pulled out a familiar looking silver flask. "Good thing I brought the holy water."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hi guys! First I want to say thanks to all who have read and reviewed my story so far. I really appreciate the feedback and any suggestions you may have! Second, just a note to say that after this chapter it may take a bit longer to post, thanks to Christmas and all. Going home to spend some time with the fam! Hope you're all enjoying so far and Merry Christmas! PS, just to cover my butt I don't own Supernatural or its characters (forgot the copyright in my earlier posts!), giving the credit where it's due, thanks Kripke and co!**

Chapter 4

Azaezel's plan was falling beautifully into motion. As predicted, the Winchesters were in New Brunswick now, distracted by their latest case. He could thank dear old dad for that, sending those coordinates, providing the perfect excuse to send the boys as far away from Pappy as possible. Sure, the ghost or whatever haunting the place was the real deal, but she would still be a bitch to get rid of. Of course Azaezel knew the tricks of the hunting trade: find the remains, dump gas and salt on 'em, light 'er up and spirit gone. He also knew about how certain apparitions attach themselves to familiar objects, something comforting. The boys had figured out how dear old Sister Marie had latched on to her crucifix, but again, Yellow Eyes was far from stupid. He had sent some of his lower grade demons to scope the joint, and it was _massive._ Finding one little piece of jewelry in that park, and after dark, no less, would be like finding a needle in the proverbial haystack.

The demon flashed a cocky, toothy smile. His plan was indeed going perfectly, almost too well. He was not a superstitious man (well, er, demon) but it almost seemed like the plan was too good to be true. How could anything go so smoothly, especially when dealing with the Winchesters? The demon allowed himself to shake off his sudden nerves. Why wouldn't his plan work? Ever since that November night when little Sammy was officially one of his chosen, Azaezel's plans for the young Winchester boy were fitting like a glove. After all, it was his destiny. All he had to do was separate those brothers while on the hunt (shouldn't be too hard, again, the property was huge) and Sam Winchester would be his.

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John drummed his fingers absently on the steering wheel of his pick-up, trying to rid himself of the discomfort nagging him. The French Fort case shouldn't be that bad, simple salt and burn. Sure, he knew that the nun's body had been shipped back to France, but those boys were among the best hunters out there; they'd figure something out. Besides, it was always good to be challenged, kept one from being lazy and careless on the job.

But if it was such a simple case, then why the nagging feeling at the pit of his stomach? John finished his now cold coffee and stuffed the Styrofoam mug back in the cup holder; he had this strange hunch that he was being watched. A quick scan around the area showed no sign of any suspicious vehicle, but that most certainly did not mean that someone wasn't snooping from within a building or a dark corner. Again he pulled out his cell, considered dialing one of Dean's many phones, and again decided against it. He didn't want to alert his boys or get them nervous over nothing; that could be just as dangerous as messing up on a case. But at the same time, he most certainly didn't feel all that comfortable with the boys on the other side of the continent. Maybe now was the time to come out of hiding. He did miss his boys, and they may even prove to be useful in tracking down the demon; because by now, he had identified the Yellow Eyed Demon as the one who had murdered his wife all those years ago. And if anyone could help John Winchester track the sonofabitch down, it would be his boys. He could let his friend Bobby Singer in on the plan too. He looked down at the mobile device again, had actually dialed Dean's number this time, hit send. He heard the low sound of Dean's phone ringing on the other end, but snapped the device shut after only two rings.

No, he wouldn't call his sons. But he was most certainly hauling ass to Canada. He had a feeling that his boys needed him. With a drive he had not felt days earlier, John gunned the engine and guided the rusty truck to the Interstate.

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"Who was that?"

Sam looked up as his brother, who was reaching for his phone. It rang twice, and then went silent. With a shrug, Dean stuffed the phone back into the pocket of his worn, leather jacket, his eyes still glued on the road. "Probably just a wrong number."

The boys were on the way to the park, to scope the joint and hopefully figure out where the crucifix was buried. It was definitely going to be a hell of a job. The park wasn't what one would call small, and necklaces didn't normally just stand out for anyone to find easily. Dean groaned inadvertently as he drove past the _Welcome to/Bienvenue chez Miramichi _sign. Beside him, Sam was gazing absently out the window. They were prepared for anything: salt and iron rounds, holy water, an arsenal of weapons which could kill pretty much any supernatural foe imaginable; and yet he still felt anxious about that night's hunt. Dean sensed his brother's quiet demeanor and snuck a glance over as he slowed down for an intersection. "Feelin' ok Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just…"

"It's just what?"

"It's just that I have a bad feeling about this one, Dean. I feel like maybe it wasn't such a good idea to take this case, Dad or no Dad."

Dean snorted as he made his left turn and crossed the Miramichi River. "You, the one who was so eager to take this case in the first place, and now you have second thoughts? When we're maybe ten minutes away from the ghost we're supposed to gank, and _now_ you have second thoughts?"

Sam didn't answer, and Dean softened. "It's the visions, isn't it?"

Sam nodded, still not looking at his brother. "Yeah. It kinda bothers me that we're separated in them. It's like one of us is vulnerable, you know?"

"Sam, we've been separated so many times in hunts, it's practically human nature. Besides, easier to find the sonofabitch and send her back to wherever." Dean tried to hide the anxiety in his voice. If Sam was having freaky visions of what was going on, it couldn't be good. Didn't matter that they had learned from the best, shit happens sometimes. But he was sure as fuck not going to let something happen to his little brother, not on his watch.

They continued in silence until they reached their destination. Dean parked the Impala and the boys made their way along the scenic hiking trails. Sam had studied a map of the area the night before, and with only a quick glance as a reference, he steered the two to the bridge where Sister Marie's spirit was known to frequent. Fortunately the area was practically deserted (the perks of visiting on a Monday afternoon), and were able to pull out their trusty EMF readers without so much as a second glance from anyone. Despite the fact that the spectre was known generally to come out at night, faint readings were coming from their devices. A quick glance around confirmed that there were no power lines nearby which could render the reading inaccurate. There was definitely something around this area, or at least had been relatively recently.

"So, I guess we start looking for that crucifix?" Dean looked around him, at the vast forest which surrounded them. It was going to be a long afternoon. "Awesome."

"Stop complaining," Sam muttered. "Just need to think. I think that Sister Marie tends to stick to this neck of the woods, so I suggest we start looking here first. If we can't find it, then we'll worry about our next move. We only have a few hours of daylight left. In fact," after pausing (_hesitating,_ Dean thought), "maybe it would be helpful to wait until nightfall. Then the ghost might actually be useful in finding it."

Dean agreed and the two set to work searching for the crucifix. As expected, a careful scouting of the area proved to be fruitless; there was no sign of the dead nun's beloved cross. Finally, as the sun began to set behind the horizon, the boys gave up their search, returning to the Impala empty handed. Both were tired and grumpy, with Dean, as usual, thinking mostly of his stomach. "Let's say we grab some take out and head back to the motel. We'll head back around midnight and see if maybe we can find our ghost."

Sam agreed, still trying to shake the bad feeling in his stomach. The smell of the greasy food did nothing to help him as he settled in the hotel, watching Dean pull out a Big Mac container with relish and savouring the first bite. All Sam wanted was to have a nice hot shower, a beer or two, and crawl into bed. Ever since they had crossed the border he had had bad vibes about the case, and desperately wished that their father had not sent them on this goose chase, or that he had not agreed to it in the first place. His visions had been deathly accurate, and he couldn't shake the fear that something terrible was going to happen to one of them before sunrise.

Before Dean could turn on that annoying big brother radar of his, Sam reached into the take out bag and pulled out his own supper, washing it down with watered down fountain cola. _I hope to God I'm wrong about this one, please let me be wrong…_

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Five hours later, the Winchesters were back at French Fort Cove, this time armed with the array of weapons stashed in the Impala's trunk. Glad for the cover of darkness, despite the vastness of the property, the brothers made their way to the spot they had been that afternoon, once again armed with their trusty EMF readers. Nothing yet, but Sam and Dean were certain that sometime soon the Headless Nun would make her grand entrance.

Sure enough, not ten minutes later, the devices began to beep, lightly at first, and then the gage skyrocketing. Definitely a sign of a ghostly presence. Carefully the brothers continued their journey, eyes peeled for anything resembling a spooky ghost nun without a head. Shouldn't be that hard to spot. Their flashlights casting an eerie glow among the trees, the brothers scanned the area, in search of their target.

"Sam, to your left." Dean whispered, covering the bulb of his flashlight in hopes of disguising their presence. Sam followed suit and looked in the direction his brother had told him. Sure enough, the spirit flashed before their eyes, her black habit melting into the night, the darkness camouflaging the massive amount of blood which coated the front of the garment. Before the two could react, the apparition disappeared. A moment later, it materialized again, this time to Dean's right; the older man noticed what looked to be a farmer's scythe or a sickle in her hand. No doubt the weapon those sick fucks had used to kill her.

"Dean, look out!" Sam shouted, but Dean was one step ahead of him. With ease he fired his sawed-off, a salt round penetrating the ghost's abdomen. Instantly the ghost dissolved.

"Don't worry Sammy," he called, "I'll be ok. But we need to find that necklace, like, RIGHT NOW." The ghost appeared again, and this time Sam dispatched with a quick shot from his weapon; again the ghost vanished. He heard his brother call out to him, "cover me while I look for that stupid necklace," and in a moment Dean was on his hands and knees, trying desperately to find the crucifix before they became the ghost's next victims.

A few moments of peace (if you could call waiting tensely for a spirit to reappear out of nowhere peaceful) went by, with no sign of the necklace. Sam kept his eyes peeled, scanning the woods for any sign of Sister Marie's reappearance. After a few moments of silence, he called out to his brother. "Dean, found anything?"

Nothing but a slight rustling in the trees nearby, a noise which seemed very similar to one made by a body being drug into the brush.

"Dean?" Trying to hide the tightening in his chest, Sam turned to where Dean had been searching a few minutes before. There was no sign of his brother anywhere. Heart pounding, Sam scanned the area erratically with his flashlight, searching for any sign of his brother. "Dean!" Still nothing. By now Sam was full out panicking, the previous visions now falling into place. He had been alone in his visions because his brother had been abducted. By the Headless Nun? Or by the demons of his vision, more likely. Or even that horrible thing with those pale yellow eyes.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed his brother's name, desperately trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He drew a few shaky breaths, trying to calm down. A hyperventilating hunter was one who would most likely make a stupid, or fatal mistake. Dean needed him to be on his a-game, and a panic attack would be disastrous for both of them. He had to return to the scene of the abduction, follow the thing's trail. Swallowing hard, Sam followed the tangled mess where that _thing_ had taken his brother and disappeared into the night.

**Well, things look bad for our Dean, huh? But Sammy will find him, he is a Winchester after all! Going to take a break a bit for Christmas, but should have some new chapters early in the New Year. Who knows, I might get one in sooner! Thanks again for the reviews!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Dean awakened with a start, jolted back into consciousness when he was drug viciously over a root jutting above the ground. Groaning in pain, he slowly opened his eyes, fighting to keep down the fit of nausea which was suddenly hitting him like a wave. His head was pounding, agitated by the forceful way in which he was being drug through the woods, but he knew damn well that asking it to stop would be as pointless as asking the executioner to please not pull the switch. In other words, a joke. Dean groaned and went back to the task at hand: trying to figure out where he was. Not that he could do that in the pitch dark. Too bad Sam had the flashlights…

Sam. The thought of his brother, no doubt panicking about his missing brother and most certainly going back to those visions of his made Dean's heart sink in his chest. One, to see his brother in that state was enough to break his heart. Sam would do anything for his brother, and would be practically dead inside if anything had ever happened to him; and two, the younger Winchester would likely do something stupid or rash to try to find him. It was no secret that the brothers were each other's Achilles heel, and there would be little doubt that Sam would do whatever it took to save his brother.

After what seemed like hours, but was no doubt only a few minutes, the thing who was dragging Dean finally stopped, and the older Winchester felt his head hit the ground with a thud. Another searing shot of pain flashed through his body, but he winced and gritted his teeth until the sharp stabbing became a dull throb. Immediately his hunter's instincts kicked in and he scanned the area for any signs of the headless ghost. This was not her MO, she usually attacked relatively close to the bridge. Not one of the vics had been found this far from it. Suddenly Dean remembered Sam's psychic premonitions, about Sam being alone, but surrounded by demons. Was it a demon who had separated the brothers? More than likely.

As if on cue, Dean recognized the telltale rotten age stench of sulfur, and immediately realized that his suspicions had been correct. Awesome. "What the fuck," he grumbled, gingerly massaging his temple. As if on cue, the demon, a middle aged man with salt and pepper brown hair and a business suit, stood before Dean, eyes flashing black. "Well, well," it sneered, grinning vindictively at his catch. "Look what the cat drug in." Looming in the distance was another demon, no doubt the one who had abducted him in the first place. This one was a younger woman, a red head dressed in scrubs and a thin knit camisole, rubber soled shoes on her feet. Obviously a nurse or some other medical practitioner. She didn't seem strong enough to pull a big guy like himself through the woods, but guess you'd be surprised what one could do with a demon tagging along for the ride.

Dean quickly turned his attention back to Business Guy, who was leaning dangerously close to him. The hunter tried to back away, but was in too much pain to go much of anywhere. Guess being drug by the back through a goddam hiking trail would do that to you. The demon was sneering as he leaned closer, like a wild beast about to pounce upon its prey. "So, where's your precious Sammy, hmm? Let me guess, all alone, looking desperately for his big brother. Kind of pathetic." Business Guy chuckled.

"I swear to god, you lay a FINGER on my brother and you're gonna wish you were never born," Dean hissed, anger flashing in those deep, green eyes. His heart pounded madly at the thought of one of those sonofabitches hurting Sam. It was his job to protect him, to make sure nothing happened to him. A memory of a motel room, just a few weeks ago, flashed through his brain. _As long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you. _A wave of emotion came over Dean, and he fought hard to control it. Both of them needed Dean to be calm if they wanted to get out of this place alive.

Business Guy brushed off the threat as carelessly as one would swat a pesky fly. Beside him, Nurse actually laughed. "You don't realize, Dean Winchester, that I have, shall we say, connections? My boss is a helluva lot stronger than you, and can take you down as easily as one snaps a twig. So don't ever, EVER, underestimate me, boy." Before Dean could utter one of his bravado replies, Business Guy flashed his dark eyes at him; his body rose from the ground and was slammed against a large rock, knocking him into merciful unconsciousness. The two demons were about to lean in for the kill when another voice interrupted them.

"Patience," it said, voice soft and dripping with venom. A shadowed figure with a pair of yellow eyes emerged from the shadows. "Winchester is leverage. How else do you expect me to find our good little soldier?" The other two demons backed off, albeit reluctantly. "Don't worry," Azaezel continued, noticing the looks of disappointment on the demons' faces. "You'll have your turn with him soon enough." Business Guy and Nurse looked longingly at their toy, but agreed to back down. Azaezel smiled. "Good boys." He looked down at Dean, still out cold, a thin line of blood trickling along his cheek from a cut along his temple. Everything was falling into place.

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"DEAN!"

Sam's throat was raw from calling for his brother. It had been over an hour since Dean had been abducted, and Sam was trying desperately to keep focused. He was now hopelessly lost; one of the flashlights had died, and Sam had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't be much longer before the other one gave out as well. Shivering in the cold, the young man pressed on. _Dean's alive,_ he told himself, repeating those comforting words over and over. _Dean's alive, Dean's alive._ But Sam was afraid that Dean _wasn't_ alive, or that if he was, he wouldn't be much longer. For the hundredth time in the past week, Sam wished that he had ignored his father's coordinates. If he had, his brothe would still be with him right now…

"DEAN!" As expected, still nothing. As Sam shone his now weakening beam around in a full 360, he suddenly stopped short, the telltale pain hinting that he was about to have another vision. He dreaded what he was about to see; it couldn't be anything good. Sure enough, as plain as day, Sam saw what his heart desperately was trying to deny.

_Dean is lying on the ground, near a large rock, amidst a pool of blood. He's either dead or barely alive, his body unresponsive. Sam is beside him, trying desperately to wake him up, but Dean doesn't react to his brother's presence. The young man falls to his knees, as if gunshot, shaking his brother in hopes of getting some sort of reaction. Dean remains oblivious. _

"Oh god." Sam's heart sinks, heavy. Dean's gone. Considering that desperate look on his face in that vision, and Dean's unresponsive body, there's no doubt that his brother had been killed. Sam dropped to his knees and lets out one broken sob. He indulged himself in sorrow for a minute or two, and then stood up, eyes determined. No. He wasn't about to give up on Dean. Not yet. Not when there was still a chance. He closed his eyes, trying to recognize any landmarks from the vision, and almost immediately remembered the rock. He recognized the area from that afternoon, it actually wasn't all that far away, maybe a mile or two from the bridge. If only he could remember where the bridge was.

"Think Sam, think." The young man breathed in and out, trying to settle the nerves and clear his mind. He had stayed pretty much on the path the entire time during his search for his brother, and had only veered a little to the right about a mile or so behind. Securing his knapsack, Sam turned around and headed back into the darkness. He had to find his brother. He just couldn't let him die out there, not after everything he had done for him.

Carefully Sam backtracked along the path, shining his light along the trail to keep from tripping. About a minute in, the beam suddenly flashed on a familiar object: a gold chain, a charm in the form of a cross gently hanging from the end.

Sister Marie's crucifix.

Carefully Sam bent down and picked up the necklace. He had forgotten about the job since Dean's abduction. Absently he stuffed the trinket in his pocket. Sister Marie would have to wait.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam had finally found the spot where he had veered off trail. A quick scan with his light (how it was still holding up, he had no clue, but he wasn't about to question the one bit of luck either Winchester had that night) pointed Sam in the right direction and he disappeared once more along the steep trail. It was hard walking, practically a vertical climb, but Sam was athletic; that and the adrenaline running through his veins gave him the strength to tackle the path with as much ease as possible under the circumstances. With every step, he sensed the minutes ticking away, the precious seconds in which Dean could still be alive. Maybe this was the vision which didn't come true. Nobody gets it right 100% of the time, right? Repeating this comforting lie (for Sam Winchester was deathly afraid that this really _would_ be a lie) the young man continued, calling out for his brother in hopes that he might actually hear him and answer back.

No such luck. Undeterred, Sam continued calling out Dean's name, trying to ignore the fear when each call remained unanswered. After what seemed like an eternity, Sam finally hit pay dirt. His beam danced along the darkness and landed upon the unconscious body slumped against the rock. As he quickly cut the distance between the two, the only thought running through Sam's mind was _I hope I'm not too late._

**Hi guys, I surprised myself by managing to get another chapter in before Christmas break. The benefit of not having to work till later I guess. Besides, I want to get these out for you guys as quickly as possible **** Thanks again for the reviews, much love!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

Sam's heart was pounding madly as he hurried to his brother's side. He had no idea if he was surrounded by demons, like in his vision; he didn't care. The only thought on Sam Winchester's mind was of his brother, if he was safe. Struggling to steady his shaking hand, he felt for a pulse: and was relieved to find it, strong and steady. Dean was alive.

"Thank God," Sam breathed as he gently shook his brother to revive him. A moment later, Dean's eyes fluttered open. He looked incoherently for a moment, gathering his bearings, before recognizing the blurry form before him. "Sam?" he mumbled, wincing as his sudden movements sent a searing pain along his body.

"Yeah, it's me," Sam answered in a hushed tone. "Can you walk? We need to get the hell outta here before whatever grabbed you comes back for round two."

Dean nodded, wincing again as Sam helped him to his feet. "Don't need to tell me twice."

Slowly the two made their way through the darkness, Sam trying to adjust his pace for his injured brother. The progress was slow, but each painful step brought Dean further away from his encounter with the demons. Sam scanned the shadows for any sign of demonic activity, feeling confident that perhaps his last vision had been inaccurate. He had found Dean by the very rock he had seen, very much alive; maybe it was a sign that something good might actually come out of this shitty job. As they walked, Sam questioned his brother about his attack.

"I don't know man," Dean answered when his brother inquired about the ambush. "It happened so fast. The funny thing is I should've been able to fight back; hell, we've been attacked by demons before, and none of 'em's ever gotten me down. One of 'em drug me into the woods and the other was about to finish me off when this new guy with these weird yellow eyes stopped him. He was one creepy mofo, let me tell ya."

Sam froze at the mention of the final demon. "Wait, did you say that last demon had yellow eyes?"

"Yeah, kinda like the one in your vision."

Sam shuddered; the few traces of optimism he had left vanished as quickly as it had come. If Yellow Eyes had attacked Dean, and had let him live for the time being, that couldn't be a good sign. But then again, why hadn't they attacked when Sam had found Dean earlier? Did the demon have plans, and did they involve him or his brother?

"Fuck."

"You tellin' me."

"Well, guess this means we should leave Sister Marie alone for the night," Sam mumbled, inadvertently toying with the crucifix which was still in his pocket. "Forgot to mention, I actually found the necklace while you were out, total fluke if you ask me."

"You found it?" Dean arched his eyebrow, incredulous. "I'm out cold, god knows where, and you stop and find the damn necklace? Thanks, love you too."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes. Even when the boys were in danger, Dean still had time to make fun of him. The young man sighed, thinking just how close he could have been to no longer hearing the playful insults; he shuddered, and brushed aside the thought. No time in wallowing in _what could have beens._ They needed to get the fuck out of French Fort Cove, pronto.

"We may as well gank her then."

"What?"

"I said, since we have the crucifix, we may as well get rid of our evil spirit. It is what we do, after all."

"I can't believe, after all you've been through, you still want to finish the job."

"Damn straight," Dean opined, his voice stronger. "Since when has a simple knock to the noggin prevented you from finishing what we started?"

_Since I saw a vision of you dead,_ Sam thought, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he reluctantly agreed. The brothers pulled out the necessary items for item purification and set to work. If the boys had been lucky, the spirit would have attached itself to something which would burn easily, like a scrap of clothing, an old letter, or anything which would easily and cleanly burn, eliminating the ghost permanently. Unfortunately, our headless spectre had decided to latch on to a piece of jewelry. Needless to say, it would not be a matter of lighting it up, ghost go _poof._ Instead, the Winchesters had opted to perform a purification ceremony, cleansing the item and hopefully banishing the spirit in the process. Generally used to eliminate poltergeists, the brothers were wary of its effectiveness in eradicating a vengeful spirit, but it was the only option they had at the time.

Dean quickly got the necessary items ready as Sam pulled out a warn volume and opened to the bookmarked page where the cleansing ritual had been written. A salt line had been formed (_God I hope the wind doesn't disturb it, Sam thought as he dumped the contents of the box of Windsor on the ground_), the cross placed in the center. They were ready.

Sam read the verses, all the while keeping an eye open for Sister Marie, or the Yellow Eyed Demon, or any other demonic entity. Sure enough, the Winchesters were face to face with the Headless Nun, armed with her scythe, and ready to pounce.

"Hurry, Sammy!" Dean shouted, pulling out his sawed-off and aiming at the spirit. Within seconds the sister had vanished into the night. Undeterred, Sam continued to read, just as the wind disturbed the salt line and nun materialized behind him, ready to strike.

"Sammy!" In a flash Sister Marie had attacked Sam from behind; the young man let out a surprised cry and dropped the book. Dean didn't hesitate; in seconds he grabbed the discarded volume and hurriedly flipped through the pages until he found the spell. _God I hope I don't fuck up the Latin,_ he thought as he read through the text and wished that he had Sam's knack for extinct languages. As the older Winchester read, Sam was struggling to fight off his ghostly assailant. With one foul swoop he was tossed like a matchstick against a tree, where he slumped down, limp as a rag doll. Fighting off the urge to rush to his brother, Dean finished reading and slammed the book shut, praying that it would work; and thank God, it did. The darkness was briefly cut as the spirit emitted a faint, shimmering light, before disappearing for good.

Dean didn't waste any time. As soon as Sister Marie's apparition had vanished, he rushed to his unconscious brother, checking anxiously for a pulse or any sign of life. Fortunately, other than being slightly concussed, Dean concluded that his brother would have a nasty headache, but would otherwise be fine. Nothing that whiskey or an Advil wouldn't take care of. As if on cue, Sam groaned and rubbed his aching temple. "What the…"

"Good to hear you talking Sammy," Dean grinned as he helped his brother to his feet. "Lucky for you, your cleansing ritual seemed to have done the trick. Looks like this joint is going to have one less headless ghost hanging around."

"Well, that's one less thing for us to worry about," Sam agreed as the brothers headed for the exit. It had been a long night, and both were looking forward to a hot shower, a few beers, and a nice, warm bed. Sam felt that they had got away easy, considering how foreboding his premonitions had been. Get out of here? The sooner, the better.

"Not so fast." The boys halted as they stood face to face with a man with blondish grey hair, a devious grin, and a pair of pale yellow eyes. The eyes that both Winchesters had seen more than enough of within the past few hours.

"Shit." Dean's voice sounded distant, even though the man was standing a few feet away from Sam; because the youngest Winchester's heart had stopped beating for a moment. He stood boldly before the demon, with only his hazel eyes betraying the fear that seemed to pierce his very soul. To his right, nearly hidden in the shadows, was a large rock; and in horror, Sam realized that the one in which he had found Dean not an hour before, though similar, was not the stone from his vision. As if to confirm his fear, Yellow Eyes nodded wickedly at Sam. "Look familiar Sammy boy?" Dean stole his brother a confused glance and the demon chuckled. "Oh Sammy, I guess you forgot to mention to your dear older brother about the last vision you had, huh?"

"Sam, what the fuck is this wack job talking about? What vision?"

But before Sam could reply, the demon, with a flick of his wrist, sent Sam hurtling through the air, for the second time that night, against a tree, pinning him there. Oh, he was going to make his brother watch, because what Yellow Eyes was about to do next would easily tear the young Winchester boy apart.

"Sammy!" Dean limped as fast as he could to his brother, but it was too late. With another simple flick Dean was pinned to the rock, unable to move. He could only watch as the Yellow Eyed Demon slowly made his way over to him, toying at the blade of a dagger with the tip of his finger.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," the demon murmured, a sickly smile spreading across his face. "I may have plans for Sammy, but I have been savoring this moment for a very long time."

"Do whatever you want with me, just let my brother go," Dean hissed, anger flashing in his green eyes. The demon laughed as he approached. Let Sam Winchester go? The idea was preposterous.

"Well, here's the thing, Dean. We, shall we say, can't do that. You see, your brother is very special. He's been chosen since that night in the nursery when little Sammy was still in diapers. We need him for our own little plans. But, you see, there's just one small problem." Closer still, and Dean could feel his hot breath against his neck. The feel of it made him physically ill. "You see, that problem is you. With big brother in the picture, there would be no way Sammy would ever be able to just accept his fate. But, with you out of it, you just never know, do you? And we can't have annoying older brothers butting in to our plans, now do we?" And, as a helpless Sam watched in horror, the demon plunged the knife into Dean's chest.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey guys, hope you liked your little cliffhanger! I did say this story was about hurt Dean, right? Hope you all don't hate me lol! Teased you all, mwahahaha! Anyways, hope you enjoyed the last chapter, sorry about the lateness of this one. Enjoy!**

"No!"

In seconds, Sam felt the world as he knew it crumble down like a house of cards. Dean, his brother, the one who had taken care of him since he was a baby, whom he had looked up to since he was four years old, who had done everything in his power to make sure he had as normal a childhood as a hunter's kid could have, was dying before his very eyes; and he was completely powerless to stop it.

"Oh, Sammy," mocked the demon as he pulled his bloody weapon (_Dean's blood, Sam thought, and he fought back the urge to vomit_) from Dean's chest and wiped it callously on his pant leg. "Looks like big brother is caught between a rock and a hard place." He chuckled vindictively at his tasteless pun.

"Go to hell."

Yellow Eyes laughed again. "Sorry, Sam, but hell, let's just say, been there, done that."

Sam let out a pained cry, similar to that of a wounded animal, but Yellow Eyes relished in the hurt in the younger Winchester's voice. Still toying with the blade that had stabbed his self-absorbed older brother, the demon slowly made his way to where Sam was pinned, humming to himself with every step. As he neared the young man, he leaned closer, the cold of the blade, still damp with Dean's blood, pressed against his throat. "You see, Sam, I have plans for you. You and the other special children…"

"What 'special children'?" Sam spat, willing himself not to look the sonofabitch in the eye.

"Don't interrupt me, it's rude. As I was saying, there are a few very special people in the world, chosen people. I…"

The Yellow Eyed demon was interrupted again. Not by Sam, this time, but to the sound of footsteps nearby. For one irrational moment, Sam thought it was Dean, despite the fact that he was lying not forty feet away, likely dead. The demon turned, fury flashing in his eyes, and was face to face with a man with graying dark hair, a gruff beard, and a look of pure hatred in his eyes. The man aimed an ancient looking gun at him, his shooting hand steady. Sam's hazel eyes widened at the sight, and he felt a small thrill of hope.

The man standing before him was John Winchester.

"John, how utterly foolish of you to drop by." By now the amusement had left the demon's voice, and he stared at his enemy with hate.

"Funny, was just about to say the same thing to you. Let my son go."

A hint of the demon's humour returned at John's last comment. "Sorry, no dice," he sneered. "Sam is rather important to me, and I need to have him around. Besides, I rather enjoy the company, but the whining is a tad off putting." With a glance at Sam, who glared at him. "Face it John, you know what's going to happen, it's inevitable, so why not just let it go and accept Sammy's fate. You were a marine, after all, so you know all about being a good soldier."

"Fuck you."

"My, such vulgarities," the demon sighed, and in seconds, John was pinned to the ground, his weapon slipping harmlessly from his hands. Yellow Eyes picked it up, eyeing the gun with a sense of genuine awe. "What have we here? Interesting weapon now, isn't it John? Since when were you into relics like this? But, old or not, it will do the trick to eliminate you." The demon aimed the weapon between John's eyes, about to shoot; suddenly, he felt his hand waver, his aim unsteady. Before he could gather his bearings, the gun slipped from his hands, landing with a thud on the ground. The demon looked slightly bemused, as he turned to Sam. "So, looks like you discovered your little secret, huh?"

"Shut up." Sam eyed the demon coldly. The demon had finally lost all amusement in the situation; his plan was slowly starting to fall apart. He turned to see John, once again aiming the gun at him, and immediately arched his head back, letting out a thick cloud of black smoke, before the body sank helplessly to the ground. As if on cue, Sam felt himself tumble to the ground, finally free from the demon's grip. Without hesitation, Sam rushed to his brother's side, as John watched, aware of his first born's dire situation now that the initial danger was over. The young man tried to find a pulse, felt nothing. "Oh God," he moaned and tried again. Still nothing. Tears welling in his eyes, Sam collapsed to the ground, rocking his brother back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably, oblivious to his father, who was watching from the sidelines, shaking with his own grief. Suddenly, Sam paused. It was faint, but he had felt the whisper of a pulse while holding his brother. "Dad, he's alive!" Quickly he scooped his brother in his arms and followed his father (who had thankfully remembered the way out) to the parking lot, where the Impala and John's old pick-up were waiting. Sam laid his brother in the back seat (_God, he's gonna be pissed to get his baby covered in blood_) and rushed behind the wheel. Moments later the Winchesters sped out of the parking lot to the nearest hospital.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The waiting room was surprisingly busy for 3AM on a Tuesday morning. A young couple, holding a sleeping baby in their arms, sat in one corner, heads bowed as if in prayer; in another, a middle aged woman sat with a younger woman, about in her thirties, whispering to themselves and occasionally sneaking anxious glances at the clock. Sam was oblivious to the others as he paced around the small room nervously, also peeking at that dreaded time piece on the wall. Dean had been in surgery for only a half hour, but to Sam, it felt like a lifetime. He stole a glance at his father, who was sitting on one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, head in his hands. For a moment, Sam thought about sitting beside him, putting his arm around his father and holding him close. It was what loved ones did in times of crisis, right? But the Winchesters were no ordinary family. How many families had mothers burned alive by demons, who hunted monsters for a living, who couldn't even express how much they loved one another without getting into an argument? _Screw it,_ Sam thought, and plumped down, exhausted, next to his father, mimicking his gesture of burying his face in his hands; and was surprised to feel one gently lay on his knee. It was only the briefest of touches, but it said it all. Sam finally broke down, overwhelmed by emotions, and John kept that calloused hand on his son's knee, providing what comfort he could, in the only way he knew how. They sat like that for hours, by now the room empty of its other inhabitants, until a young doctor walked in, her reddish blonde hair hidden by a large hair net, her mask still lowered around her neck.

"Sam and John Smith?"

Father and son looked up, Sam's eyes red from crying and John's raw, as if he wanted desperately to cry, but was unwilling to do so before his boy.

"I'm Dr. Wilson, I was head surgeon of Dean's surgery. The procedure went as well as expected; Dean has been stabilized, but I'm afraid that the stab wound punctured one of his lungs, which filled it with fluid. He also suffered severe internal bleeding, as well as severe swelling to the brain. At the moment he is in a comatose state; we won't know more until he wakes up, if he even wakes up at all. I'm sorry."

Sam felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach, and once again he felt the need to throw up. He could faintly hear his father ask, "Can we see him?", as well as the doctor's kindly reply: "of course." Mechanically Sam followed his father and Dr. Wilson through a maze of halls, to the Intensive Care unit; fortunately, it was empty, allowing for privacy, but Sam didn't seem to notice, or care. He sat at his brother's side in a semi-comfortable chair provided for that purpose, holding his brother's hand; and for the second time that horrible night, he broke down, oblivious to his father standing in the doorway, shaking slightly in his own grief but determined to hold it together. He had failed as a father, had sent the damn coordinates in the first place, even after getting a bad feeling about the case, and now his son was in a hospital bed, dying. He pounded his fist into the doorway in frustration, Sam oblivious to his father's outburst, and left the room.

He had caused this mess in the first place; he had to make it right.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hi guys! First of all, thanks for reading and commenting, love hearing all the feedback! This is my first chapter fic, so I really appreciate the positive response, will encourage me to try to write a few more! Second, the ending of the book is a tad AU in the sense that I'm making a few changes from the story. Same ultimate outcome, but just done differently. I hope you enjoy my take on Kripke's story. Merry Christmas!**

Chapter 8

The room was dark, evening shadows once again penetrating the small space from the venetian blinds of the small window. Outside, the shuffle of rubber soles on tiled floor could be heard occasionally, as orderlies, doctors, and other medical personnel ran about their duties, seemingly oblivious to the young man who kept a steady vigil in room 3027. The room was quiet, except for the constant beeping of the heart monitor at Dean's bedside, and the hiss of the respirator as it breathed for him. Dean had been in a coma for three days now, and Dr. Wilson, though trying to instil a brief amount of hope for father and son, had been honest when she claimed that the longer Dean was in a coma, the less likely it was he would come out of it. Even if he did, the doctor had predicted that he would likely have some form of brain damage from the swelling in the brain. In other words, a vegetable.

Sam was generally alone in the room, his father opting to come at different times, if he even came at all. Typical, Sam thought bitterly. So that brief showing of affection in the waiting room three days earlier had been a fluke, a meaningless gesture during times of crisis. Sam had never left his brother's bedside, expect to eat, drink a terrible cup of coffee from the machine down the hall, or use the bathroom. The nurses had been kind enough to provide a blanket and pillows for Sam to sleep in a recliner, since Dean had been moved to his own room. Occasionally John had sat with him, and the two would watch their brother, not saying a word. For the most part, however, John would keep his own vigil alone, while Sam was on one of the few breaks to grab a forced bite to eat. To be honest, Sam preferred to be alone. It was then that he could talk to his brother in private, without the discomfort of someone, even family, watching.

This night was one of those particular vigils; John had been gone all day, stopping in briefly in the morning for about a half hour before disappearing. Sam sat by Dean's bedside, holding the limp hand in his, thinking that this was a chick flick moment if ever there was one, but not caring. Dean was ever unresponsive to the touch, and Sam's heart sank. Every now and then he had thought he had felt movement in Dean's fingers, a sudden, gentle squeeze, but every time, it proved to be just wishful thinking.

"Hey, Dean." Sam's voice broke the silence. "I – I just wanted to say I'm sorry, man. I shouldn't have pushed to go on this stupid case. We were in another country, for gods' sake. I guess the only good think is the free health care." He smiled faintly at his weak attempt at humour, but as always, Dean was unresponsive. Sighing, Sam continued. "I had a bad feeling from the start, and yet I still wanted to go. Even after having those gaddamed visions, I still kept going, even though my gut was telling me to get the hell out."

Sam paused, unaware that he was gently caressing his brother's thumb, and stopping abruptly in the process once he realized what he was doing. God, all these chick flick moments, if Dean was awake, he'd definitely make fun of him. Again, Sam shrugged, deciding to risk it. For all he knew, Sam would never hear his brother's voice again. To hell with it.

"You've done so much for me since I was a kid." Sam could feel his voice breaking, but continued nonetheless. "You've been more than just a brother, but a parent, and a best friend. You taught me how to drive with the Impala (even though I could have easily wrecked her, you know how terrible I was when I was first behind the wheel); you snuck me into R rated movies when I was way too young to go in, and snuck back out when I ended up being too much of a wimp to watch 'em. You've done so much for me over the years, and I've done nothing. I need to make it up to you, man. You just have to wake up. I need you, Dean. Please." Sam felt hot tears stream down his face and he wiped them with the back of his hand. "You and Dad are the only family I've got, and last time I checked Dad and I weren't on the best of terms."

Sam was quiet for a few minutes, toying with the fuzz Dean's blanket. He had no idea how he would function without his brother to tease him, make stupid jokes, amuse him with his seemingly endless appetite for junk food and pie. To be there when he needed him, like he always had. For a moment, Sam flashed back to the words the Yellow Eyed Demon had said that horrible night, as Dean lay dying. He had hinted that without his brother, Sam would be hopeless, reckless, and willing to accept his fate (whatever his fate was) without question. Would life without Dean be like that? Would Sam actually agree to comply with that sick bastard (or do anything questionable, really) without his brother to bring him back to reality? "That's another reason why you have to wake up," he continued, "to keep my sorry ass in check."

Sam lapsed into silence, listening to the steady drone of the heart monitor. The sound was somewhat comforting: those incessant beeps, which would be grating to Sam's nerves on any other occasion, were all he had to prove that his brother was still alive. The night before, Sam had thought that he was going to lose Dean: he had flatlined, had been out for a few minutes, before the doctors had finally brought him back. It had been the most horrifying two minutes of his life, as he watched his brother on the brink of death. Now, every beep from the machine brought some strange sense of comfort. Sam looked down, suddenly aware that he was holding Dean's hand again. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and squeezed his brother's hand.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John Winchester had never been a man of emotion. It wasn't that he didn't love his boys, it was that he loved them _too much,_ as odd as it seemed. He was afraid to spend as much time with them, to show them affection, because he was afraid for their safety. As children, his drill sergeant methods of parenting had had a purpose: to save their lives should they have gotten into a serious mess while on the hunt; as adults, he had avoided his sons to protect them from their mom's killer, to keep it safely off their trail. As he had sat at his eldest son's bedside hours before, he realized that, despite all his efforts, he had been unable to save one of his boys. Despite the strict parenting, Dean had been hurt on the job; regardless to his attempts to protect the brothers from the Yellow Eyed Demon, he had found them and nearly killed his son. He had failed as a parent: Dean was dying, and Sam was more likely to become one of Yellow Eyes' minions of hell. He had promised both of his sons, and had failed them in every way possible. Fuck, he could have given the boys the childhood they had craved as youngsters. Why not, he had messed up royally anyway, and had succeeded only in depriving Sam and Dean of the life most little boys were supposed to have had: playing baseball on Saturday afternoons, trips to the carnival, camping in the woods…

But there was one way John could make it up to his boys, especially Dean. He had toyed with the idea ever since that horrible night three days earlier, but had brushed it aside, hoping to come up with an alternative. Maybe it was just him pussying out, but he still figured that it was best to look at all the options. Deep down, he knew that the crossroad demon was the only way to bring Dean back, to try to make up for the shitty parenting. Without Dean, Sam would no doubt slip into despair, and may even be easier to convince to join with Yellow Eyes. Not that Sam was weak, by all means no: but Sam and Dean had this bond that John had never seen with siblings anywhere else. He had most certainly not felt it with his own brother, but he saw it in those two boys. Each would do anything for the other; risk their lives for the other. And by God, shouldn't John do the same for his sons?

That had been earlier in the day, as John sat by Dean's bedside, looking down at his son one last time. Who knew when he would be able to see him again, he had told himself. Now, he was standing in the middle of a crossroads, waiting impatiently for the demon to make its appearance. Frustrated, John let out a cry, kicking furiously at a nearby stone.

"Well, well, aren't we a little impatient?" John turned and was face to face with a beautiful woman, reddish brown curls cascading along her back, pale face showing a few freckles on her delicate nose. She wore a tight pair of jeans and a black tank top, her heeled boots crunching on the gravel as she made her way over to the man who had called her. Her grey eyes flashed red for a moment, before settling back to their original colour. John stared at her, heart pounding, but surprisingly steady considering what he was about to do.

"John Winchester," the demon purred, running a slender finger along his chest and up to his chin, a seductive gesture which John completely ignored. Undeterred, the demon flashed an impish smile, and then looked around, skeptical. "No devil's traps? I'd hate it if you tried to toy with me."

"No, I'm here to make a deal."

The demon's grin widened a bit and she seductively toyed with a fray on John's leather coat. "A deal, huh? Let me guess, your precious Dean is in pretty rough shape. Yeah, I heard," before John could comment on how the bitch knew about what had happened to his son. "So, let me guess, your soul for Dean's life? No thanks. Maybe try again next time."

"I have something that your boss might want, though." Carefully, John pulled the weapon he had had earlier from his coat pocket. It was a geriatric Cold pistol, but not just any gun. This gun was the only weapon on the planet which could kill a demon with a single shot, without the hassle of exorcism. Granted, the vessel would be killed in the process, but sometimes, it was impossible to save them all. This gun was the only threat to Yellow Eyes, explaining why he had left in a hurry that night in French Fort Cove. With this gun in its possession, the demon was practically indestructible.

The demon eyed the weapon curiously, and was about to reach for it when John drew it back. "Bring Dean back and the gun's yours."

For a moment, the demon considered the deal, and then hesitated. "Nice, I have to admit, John, but I'm going to want a little something more. You see, there are other things out there, other than that gun, which could put a damper on our little plans, and knowing you, you'd probably figure it out on your own. No, John, I want the gun and your soul. Then your precious Dean lives. You weren't much of a father anyways," with a smirk.

John hesitated. He had banked on a simple trade, gun for Dean. But the demon had said something about another weapon out there which could harm them. Should he decline the deal to try to find it? Then, an image of Dean in his hospital bed, with Sam at his bedside, emotionally and physically exhausted, came to him, as clear as day. He couldn't leave Dean to waste away, or Sam, for that matter. For without his brother, who knew what would happen?

"John? Hurry up, haven't got all day."

"Ten years?" John looked up, eyes moist with tears.

"Ten years, are you kidding? That's more than enough time for you to thwart our plans. It's now or never, John. Tick tock, time's a passin'."

"Can I at least get to say goodbye to my boys? To see that Dean is ok with my own eyes?"

The demon sighed. "John Winchester, ever the sentimentalist. Fine, just because I'm such a nice person. Er, demon. Now, is it a deal or not?"

John said nothing, but drew the demon in for a kiss. He felt his blood run cold as her lips, surprisingly warm, pressed against his in what seemed, at least on her part, some odd form of passion. A moment later she drew back, a satisfied smile on her face and her palm outstretched. "Gun?"

"Only if I see Dean alive and well. That first, and then the gun."

The demon sighed. "Such a lack of trust. Fine. But if you try to back out, so help me…"

John shook his head. There was no way he was going to back out. Not when it was his boys on the line.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam leaned back in his recliner, eyes closed but nowhere near asleep. He was exhausted, but could only get a few hours of interrupted slumber at best. How could he sleep knowing that his brother might wake up when he was under? There was no way he was about to let Dean wake up alone, not on his watch. But now, he was so exhausted that he felt that maybe he should sneak in an hour or two, just for strength. He pulled the blanket up to his chin, shivering slightly in the cold and trying to ignore the nagging pain in his back from spending too many nights in his make shift bed. He was just about to drift off when he heard a gasping sound from the bed beside him.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** **Hi guys, hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! As promised, here's another chapter coming up, hope you all enjoyed my take on what happened in early season 2. I had toyed with that and another different idea (introducing Cas and having the boys unaware that he exists, which would still be accurate to season 4, but figured it would be more fitting to have John make his sacrifice, it goes better with the YED storyline and is actually closer to what happened in the show, just a bit earlier and under different circumstances. Anyway, hope you enjoy the next chapter and have a great New Year! **

Chapter 9

"Dean?"

Sam sat up with a start, tossing his blanket carelessly on the floor, and rushing to his brother's bedside. The man who had been comatose just moments earlier, with no possible chance of waking up, was sitting up in his bed, gasping for breath, a panicked expression in his eyes. Desperately Sam reached for the call button, pressed it franticly, all the while trying to calm down his brother. A minute or two later, an orderly had rushed into the room, her face showing the same look of shock as Sam's as she reached over to Dean's bedside and administered a light sedative. All the while, Sam stood back, still too much in shock to indulge in the relief and joy that was overwhelming him. A minute or two later, Dean had calmed, and the orderly had left, obviously in search of Dr. Wilson.

Dean, still (at least, for the time being) hooked up to the massive series of tubes and machines which had been keeping him alive not ten minutes earlier, stared at his brother, who was back at his bedside, eyes moist with tears of relief. He stared at his brother in silence for several moments, until Dean gave him the typical macho glare that clearly meant _enough with the chick flick moments already._ Sam laughed, almost hysterically in his relief, and quickly brushed away his soon to be forming tears. Dean was alive. He was somehow, by some miracle, alive and well, when he had been so close to death.

About an hour later, Dean had been removed from life support, after a thorough report from Dr. Wilson declared that the patient was in a perfect bill of health. "I don't understand," she said, flipping through the pages of Dean's medical charts. "There was no way that your brother could have made such a rapid recovery. There's absolutely no sign of swelling in the brain, no internal bleeding, nothing. It's as if nothing had happened in the first place. I think that this young man has someone looking out for him, if you ask me."

"Thanks doc," Sam smiled, and Dean nodded his appreciation, still a tad groggy from the sedative. The doctor left, finally allowing the brothers some time alone. The past few days had been an emotional roller coaster for Sam, who was still trying to come to terms with the fact that his brother was alive and well.

"What the hell happened, Sammy?" Dean looked up at his brother, trying to look macho, but his emerald eyes clearly revealing the uncertainty.

"Well, that yellow eyed demon stabbed you in the chest, left you for dead. He was about to take me to god knows where when Dad showed…."

"Wait, did you say _Dad_ showed up?"

"Yeah, he had this weird gun, supposedly it's the only thing that can kill a demon, no need for exorcism, and the demon actually stays dead. Anyways, Dad showed up, threatened the thing, and the demon hightailed it. We took you hear and you'd been in a coma ever since."

"How bad off was I, anyways? Bad as in _he's in rough shape but he should pull through eventually_ bad or _this guy's fuckin' screwed _bad?"

"It was definitely the latter," Sam admitted. "The doc basically said that even if you did wake up, you'd likely be a vegetable. You were really close to being labeled brain dead, man. I was sure you were a goner." Sam shuddered at the thought. He had been that close to losing his brother. Having him not in his life, while he had been at Stamford, had been bad enough. At least then, he had been alive and well. A pain in the ass, for sure, but a _breathing_ one. And then, with one simple action, Sam had been convinced that he was about to lose Dean a second time, a more permanent loss. And after Jess' death almost a year earlier, to lose his brother would have been a devastating blow.

"Sammy?" Lost in his thoughts, Sam had not realized that Dean was trying to get his attention. "Sam!" Rather startled, the younger Winchester looked down at his brother, who had a quizzical expression on his face.

"Yeah?"

"If Dad was supposed to have been here that night, then where is he? I've been awake for over an hour now, he should have found out by now."

Sam froze, and for a brief moment, anger flashed through his eyes. He had been so caught up in the chaos of Dean's miraculous recovery, he had forgotten that his father had been absent the entire time. Your son, your flesh and blood, who an hour earlier had been on death's door, had somehow recovered, and yet you're not rushing to his bedside? For any other father, it would have been shocking, but, Sam, reluctantly thought, it really wasn't that much of a stretch for John Winchester to be nowhere around. He had ditched them pretty well all their lives, why would this moment be any different? He wanted to come up with a good reason for John's disappearance, for Dean's sake, but could come up with nothing but a feeble "I don't have a clue."

"I'm sure there's a good reason why he's not, Sam," Dean said in a low voice, more to convince himself than his younger brother. Sam had been used to John's ways, his tough love, his multiple disappearing acts that had plagued his childhood; but Dean, he was different. He had this blind faith in the man, a devotion which had stemmed practically since that night in November, when he had carried baby Sammy from his parents' burning home. He had done everything his father had asked, _everything,_ and now, when he needed him the most, he had not even bothered to show up when his son had come out of a coma. A fucking _coma!_

As if on cue, soft footsteps could be heard down the hall, the telltale strong, heavy stride of John Winchester. Moments later, their father peeked in the room, smiling tiredly at Dean. "Hey, son," he said faintly, and walked over to his boy's bed, gently patting him on the shoulder. Dean smiled back, his faith in his father newly restored. Of _course_ his dad would have come! He must have been away from the hospital when he had awakened, and had been caught in traffic or something. That explained why he was so late! Beside him, Sam smiled at his father, trying to swallow the suspicion that something was wrong. What, he had no idea, but something just didn't seem right about John's sudden, fashionably late, appearance.

"How are you feeling kid?" John had pulled up an uncomfortable plastic hospital chair, and was scooting it across the tiled floor, to Dean's bedside.

"Fine, I guess," Dean replied weakly. "Pretty good for a guy who's been on Death's ass for a few days." He smiled weakly at his joke, but the others found no humour.

"That's good," John nodded, and his eyes brightened as he struggled to hold back tears. Dean noticed the moisture in his father's eyes, but said nothing. Beside him, Sam was about to open his mouth, bitch at his father for showing up so late, but thought better of it. Sure, he was late, but he had showed, and that was what was important. Besides, as angry as he was at his father, he was too relieved to see his brother safe and sound to pick a fight.

"I'm so glad to see you, boy," John continued. "You too, Sammy," with a nod to the younger of the Winchester brothers. Sam looked at his father, and that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach returned. What was with the Hallmark crap? Why was his usually strict, no nonsense father, who rarely showed any signs of obvious affection, suddenly acting like father of the year? And Dean was seemingly oblivious to their dad's sudden change of attitude.

But Sam was wrong. Dean suddenly looked curiously at his father, his own _something's fishy_ radar starting to go off, faintly at first, but then building, like a pressure gage. "Is everything ok, Dad?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," John smiled, and now the tears were starting to gently trickle along his cheek. "I'm just glad to see you awake, is all." And then, to the brothers' surprise, John got up and walked to Sam, giving him a hug. Sam pulled back initially, taken by surprise by his father's sudden gesture, then allowed himself to be held.

"Dad, are you sure you're ok?" Sam asked nervously, as John finally pulled away from his son. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" John shook his head, patting a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "It's going to be ok, Sam, I promise."

John hesitated a moment, having felt slightly uncomfortable with his sudden sharing of his feelings. Judging by the puzzled looks on Sam and Dean's faces, his boys were also finding the moment rather awkward. The Winchester patriarch continued nonetheless. This was the only way he could say goodbye to his sons, not without outright blabbing that he had made a deal with a crossroads demon, who was waiting impatiently in the hallway outside.

"I just…" A brief hesitation. "I just wanted you boys to know just how proud I am of the both of you. You put up with a lot of bullshit growing up, stuff that no normal kid should have to live with." To Dean: "You have done so much for me, and for your little brother, more than you'll ever know. You had to be a man when you should have been watching _Sesame Street,_ and that's something no child should ever have to go through." John then turned to Sam, and his eyes were again moist. "Sammy, I know we haven't always seen eye to eye. I wanted you to be a hunter, and you wanted your own life. A college education. At the time, I resented that. Was angry that you'd left your brother and me. Guess I was just scared of you out there without anyone keeping an eye on you. Not that you weren't trained by the best."

Sam could only stare at his father, shocked into silence by this sudden confessional. After a moment, he stuttered: "Dad, are you ok? Are you sick? I mean, you aren't normally the share and care type of person."

John shook his head _no,_ still smiling sadly at his youngest. "No, Sammy, I'm fine. I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of the both of you. I never said it to you growing up, but I hope you never thought I didn't love you. But I do. I love the both of you so much it hurts." He turned to Dean, leaned against his bedside, and whispered something into his ear. Suddenly Dean's eyes widened in surprise and horror. "Dad?" he murmured faintly. By now John was no longer trying to control his tears. "Take care of Sammy," he mumbled, and without looking back, turned and headed out the door. Sam, unnerved by his brother's horrified expression, watched, terrified, as his father left the room. He called for his father, who did not answer; instead he made his way down the hall to where the crossroads demon stood, fidgeting in annoyance.

"Sure took you long enough," she bitched, leaning against the wall near the janitorial closet. The door was open, waiting. "Don't feel like alerting the neighbours," she explained when John gave her a quizzical look. "Now," with a devilish grin, "I believe you have something for me."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Sam and Dean had found their father, it was too late. One hand peeked from outside the door to the janitor's closet, the only hint that someone was lying in there. Sam carefully opened the door wider, afraid of what he would find, but knowing that he _had_ to know. When he found John Winchester's unresponsive body, he let out a pained wail, one that chilled his brother to the very core. Dean thought he remembered yelling for someone, _anyone_ to help, but the entire episode was a blur. The brothers could only watch helplessly as John's body was whisked away, as the doctors tried in vain to resuscitate him. Minutes seemed like hours as the two listened to the incessant whine of the heart monitor flatlining, and finally silence, cut only by Dr. Wilson's voice as she glanced up at the clock: "Time of death, 6:42 AM."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: As promised, here's another chapter **** Coming to the end now, hope you all enjoyed my first attempt at a chapter fic. Since I'm starting school again in about a week, this will probably be the only one for about four months or so (between lesson planning and my other PT job, will have little, to no time, to plan out one of these) but hope to have at least a few one shots posted. Thanks again for your patience and reviews, and have a wonderful New Year! Hopefully our boys will stop fighting, miss that brotherly love!**

Epilogue

The service had been a simple one, the typical hunter's funeral: salt and burn the body. The brothers watched in silence as the flames licked the wood of the funeral pyre, sparks dancing gracefully into the night. As Sam watched the flames licking at his father's body, he felt a wave of emotions he had never felt before. He felt nauseous, weak, as if someone had drained _him_ of life instead of his dad. He stole a glance at Dean, who was staring, unseeing, at the pyre, eyes raw and dry from the tears he was no doubt trying not to shed. Sam opened his mouth, about to say something, and then decided against it. Nothing he could say could bring any comfort to him, so it was best to be quiet. Nodding to himself, he once again looked at the fire which consumed his father, not wanting to watch but not being able to look away. It was as if he _had_ to watch. It was the last thing he could do to pay respect to the man who had done all he could to protect his boys.

Following the burning, the brothers erected a simple, unmarked cross by the river bank. Back in Lawrence, a formal stone would be erected by the family plot, next to their mother. But for now, this unmarked grave was the only marker proving that John Winchester had existed, had lived, had _died _for his sons. For Dean knew the truth about his father's death. As he had stared blankly at the burning pyre, his mind had replayed what his father had whispered into his ear minutes before his death: _Take care of Sammy,_ he had whispered, _and do your best to save him. Because if you can't, you may have to kill him._

Dean had shuddered at the thought. He remembered how his father had told him of his deal, how he was doing it to protect them, to protect _him._ He had been on the edge of death: had been so close, he had even seen that white light that people always seem to rattle on about. He had thought it had been bullshit, and was surprised to find the cliché to be accurate. He snuck a glance at his brother, who was quietly paying his respect to John Winchester, and felt a pang of guilt rush through his body. He knew that his death would have been rough on Sam, would break him. Hell, if anything were to happen to his brother, he just might follow in his father's footsteps. But he knew he was supposed to have died that night. That demon with the yellow eyes had practically said so himself. Yeah, Sammy would have been in rough shape, but he would eventually move on. For Dean to be alive, when he was supposed to be gone, it just wasn't _right._

But then, what if Sammy were to lose it without his big brother to keep an eye on him? He remembered the demon's final words before stabbing him. He had said that with Dean out of the picture, it would have been easier for Yellow Eyes to convince his brother to join his demonic army. _With big brother in the picture, there would be no way Sammy would ever be able to accept his fate. But with you out of it you just never know…_

"Fuck," Dean mumbled and Sam turned to his brother, slightly confused by his sudden outburst. When Dean showed no signs of explaining what was wrong, he gave one of his notorious half shrugs and went back to his vigil at his father's grave. Dean continued to watch for a few minutes, and slowly the brothers turned and headed back to the Impala. Dean put her in gear and slowly the two drove off, leaving behind their father.

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Yellow Eyes watched as the coal black Impala sped back to the border, leaving Miramichi and New Brunswick behind. His plan had failed initially; he hadn't banked on John Winchester making a deal to bring his precious Dean back from the dead. To make matters worse, both brothers would now be on to him; it would be much harder to get rid of Dean now that he was familiar with his plans. But, there was always a plus side. With dear old daddy out of the picture, there would be no one to make any other deals to bring brother dearest back. Well, there was Sammy; there would always be that annoying, but vital, pest. But, if everything went according to plan, the youngest of John Winchester's boys would not be making any pilgrimages to the crossroads any time soon. He, Azaezel, would make sure of that.

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The November sun shone brightly as the Impala sped along the interstate in New York. By now, Dean had finally put on some tunes, having driven in silence the first day since their father's death. AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" rocked the car's radio, and Dean managed a smile as the familiar riff echoed through the Impala's interior. Sam was already at the laptop, looking up the next case. It had been two days since the brothers had returned to the States, and Sam was eager to get back to the hunt. Anything to keep his mind off his father's death. He still had no proof that is father had made a deal with the devil, but he had a sinking feeling in his chest that this was the case. On a few occasions he had considered asking Dean, just getting it over with, but thought better of it. He knew Dean, and he knew his brother's ways of grieving: anger, depression, and covering up his true feelings with a false sense of bravado. _Like right now,_ Sam thought as Dean tapped his hands on his baby's steering wheel, belting out the chorus in his off key voice. He sighed, and went back to his research.

"Says here that there's possible poltergeist activity in a farmhouse in Indiana. Kinda easy for us, but a good start to get us back in the game. Sound good?"

Dean pulled down his shades and smiled at his brother. "Damn straight." He cranked the volume and gunned the Impala's engine.

It was time to get this show on the road.

**The End**


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thanks to elf for the review and pointing out my mistakes. I thought the first shifter was in Cali because it was at Stamford, should have looked back at my blu rays I guess lol As for "hamlet" maybe I got the term wrong there, too, I'm sure it means the same thing in Canada as it does where you are, I probably just goofed on the definition. I would have PMed you my reply to the review, but I couldn't click on the profile. Anyway, thank you so much for the review and hope you enjoyed the rest of the story. To the others who read and reviewed this, thanks so much, I really appreciate it! I may just send the boys to Canada again sometime! Have a wonderful new year!


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